PRIDE: A Gradual Process of Removing the Shame

PRIDE: A Gradual Process of Removing the Shame

A Narrative Essay by S P Clark

Curled up in the toilet of a bar fighting back the tears, an agonising wail erupted from deep within, I thought there must be more to life than this, there must be an easier way to be happy, there must be a way to stop the pain of simply being myself.

In this narrative essay, this unpicking of my path, I shall investigate various aspects of my life, of societal influence to try to examine and finally understand how I developed a sense of shame about my identity, and continue to untangle the long-reaching arms that still grip on.  Although this may strike a chord, and I may make anecdotal references, this is a personal exploration, and not an in-depth exploration of the way the LGBTQIA+ Community is impacted as a whole. How did I get to that point?  Where did that crippling feeling of shame come from?  How did the shame manifest itself?  How do I manage the ignominy now?

Shadows

Born in 1984, I grew up in a time of changing attitudes set against a backdrop of fixed views and a battle against the political will.  Although initially oblivious to the bigger picture, the impact it had upon me has been palpable, and the permission it provided to the actions of others was clear.

I hadn’t quite turned 4 years old when Section 28 was introduced, an Act that prohibited “the promotion of homosexuality”.  The amendment stated that a local authority "shall not intentionally promote homosexuality or publish material with the intention of promoting homosexuality" or "promote the teaching in any maintained school of the acceptability of homosexuality as a pretended family relationship".

The language and intent behind this act naturally spread among society at large and informed or reinforced already deeply entrenched views. During a Commons debate it was remarked by Viscount Falkland with Lord Henderson of Brompton during the proposal of their compromise amendment,  "There is a suggestion in the clause that in no way can a homosexual have a loving, caring or responsible relationship".  The word ‘suggestion’ understates the bile seeping out of Section 28 somewhat, but this was vehmently countered by Lord Somers who stated, “One has only to look through the entire animal world to realise that it is abnormal. In any case, the clause as it stands does not prohibit homosexuality in any form; it merely discourages the teaching of it. When one is young at school one is very impressionable and may just as easily pick up bad habits as good habits”.

Despite strong opposition from the LGBTQIA+ Community (and organisations such as OutRage!, Stonewall, Schools Out, The Pink Paper, Terence Higgins Trust, Gingerbread, The Family Planning Association, Gay Times and many others), it wasn’t repealed in England and Wales until I was 19 years old.  Three years earlier in Scotland.  During my formative years, Section 28 cast its miserable shadow across the LGBTQIA+ Community and left a stain upon our country’s history, and broke the lives and hearts of many people. 

When bullied at school, teachers and other “responsible adults” felt unable to speak out, sex education didn’t apply to every student equally, the lack of education lead to misinformation and the bolstering of stereotypes and hate. 

For 15 years, 3 months and 26 days Section 28 was allowed hate, bigotry, and the silencing of a community.  Allowing religion to take precedence over humanity, hate to overpower love, laws to be overruled by amendments, and the proliferation of ant-LGBTQIA+ sentiment to rise.

Another shadow that was cast came in the form of AIDS.  The AIDS epidemic and the rampant prejudices were leaving their mark on society and, by implication, upon the community.  The fear, the ignorance, the myths, the lack of knowledge / facts created an uncertainty.  It allowed people to be “othered” – to marginalise an already marginalised community.  “The Gay Plague” was another way to push a community aside, in particular men who slept with men, and gave another string of misunderstanding to their already fully strung bow.

Those who already felt that sex between two men was somehow dirty, disgusting or sinful suddenly felt vindicated.  To them this was the punishment that was bound to happen.  It was a way of wiping evil, as they saw it, from the face of the Earth in an almost Biblical sense.  A plague of locusts.  It was, after all, God’s punishment.  Attitudes are rarely changed easily or quickly.  We believe that which we know.  We trust those in our lives for information and guidance even if oftentimes they aren’t best placed to provide it. 

One campaign that has lingered long in the national consciousness is Don’t Die of Ignorance, often erroneously referred to as the Tombstone Campaign.  The impact of the powerful imagery (and associated adverts and leaflets) is undeniable but the successfulness of the campaign can be debated.  From a purely marketing aspect, it did its job.  It was discussed; it was widely covered and debated.  However, its message of ignorance versus education left many questions unanswered, many affected adversely or those unaffected were left out in the cold, and there was an perceived element of blame.  The campaign was targeting sexual active consenting adults, and to a degree intravenous drug users.  This ignored enormous numbers of the population, including many affected by and/ or living with AIDS.

For me, it created a new thought inside my brain.  A shame and a terror combined.  My pre-teen brain linked being homosexual with a certainty of contracting AIDS and death.  And that this was somehow deserved.  As I was beginning to notice for myself some differences in the way I saw others, the way I felt and, perhaps, the way I saw the world – I was pitting myself against the shame hurled upon me by the world.  Yet I had no real knowledge or educational basis to navigate this. 

Section 28 and AIDS have always felt like a black cloud covering my path ahead, and the view into the past.  A funereal pall smothering the truth.      

Unschooled

That lack of knowledge was instilled by a less than instructive education on the way of the world.  I was unschooled and ill prepared for coping with matters of sexuality, sex and the associated prejudices and discriminations.  From primary school, I had always felt outside of the expected, unusual, and, at times, outcast; even throughout my secondary education I wasn’t provided the skills and tools to navigate my journey – I wasn’t even provided the language. 

Education plays a crucial role in shaping our understanding of the world, yet there is a glaring gap when it comes to adequately preparing individuals who identify as LGBTQIA+ for the challenges they may face. From an early age, I was confronted with a lack of representation and support within the educational system, leading to feelings of invisibility and isolation.  One of the fundamental issues lies in the inbuilt prejudices that permeate educational institutions. Traditional curricula often fail to address or include LGBTQIA+ perspectives, history, or contributions.  This omission can perpetuate harmful stereotypes and reinforce societal norms that marginalize my community.  The absence of positive representation left me feeling alienated and unaccepted, which, naturally, impacted my self-esteem and mental well-being.

Language plays a powerful role in shaping attitudes and perceptions, yet schools frequently overlook the importance of inclusive language in their teachings. During my education discriminatory language was often left unaddressed, contributing to a hostile environment for me and I feel pretty sure for other LGBTQIA+ peers.  By failing to actively combat derogatory language and promote respect for all identities, it felt then and still feels now that the schools inadvertently condoned discrimination and prejudice.

Moreover, the lack of comprehensive LGBTQIA+ sex education further compounded the challenges.  Sex education, from my memory, focussed exclusively on heterosexual relationships, neglecting my needs and the needs of every child who identified as LGBTQIA+ or was still figuring things out.  The schools failed to provide vital information on sexual health and identity development, and in doing so reinforced the erasure of representation, and the shame felt was able to progressively grow and allow those long shadows previously mentioned to remain dark.

Without the proper guidance and affirmation within these educational settings, I struggled, often silently, to embrace my identity fully and was scared to navigate the complexity of my experiences.

How can you express where you are if you don’t know that you exist?

Bullied

As a nearly 40-year-old individual reflecting on the enduring impact of homophobic bullying during my formative year, the shame I carried then continues to resonate within me today. The wounds inflicted by cruel words and actions have left an indelible mark on my sense of self, influencing how I navigate relationships, my perception of my worth, and my ability to fully embrace my identity.

Growing up, I faced taunts and harassment for what others perceived my sexuality to be.  From playground insults to exclusion from social circles, the seeds of shame were sown deep within me.  The pain of being targeted for simply being myself left lasting scars, causing me to question my worth and leading me to internalise harmful beliefs about who I was.   And all this was before I even figured it out for myself.

As the bullying persisted, I found myself internalising the homophobia projected onto me.  I began to believe that I was somehow at fault for being different, shouldering the heavy burden of self-blame.  This self-condemnation only served to further entrench the toxic shame I carried, a weight that seemed impossible to shake off.  The enduring shame and self-blame took a toll on my mental health, casting a shadow of anxiety and diminishing my self-esteem.  Constantly questioning my own value and feeling unworthy of acceptance, I struggled to find peace within myself.  The scars of those early encounters with homophobia persisted into adulthood, shaping my perceptions and interactions.

The shame and fear instilled by past homophobic bullying influenced how I approached relationships.  I found myself hesitant to open up fully, guarded against vulnerability and intimacy.  Lingering doubts about being judged or rejected based on my identity made it difficult to trust others with my true self, creating barriers to forming deep, meaningful connections.  Repressing what should expressed, and concealing the pain and hurt inside.  Avoiding connection and interaction sent waves of fear through me and began a pattern of deception that persisted for decades.

 I began to unpack the layers of internalised shame that had built up over the years. Confronting the negative self-perceptions and dismantling the walls of self-blame by reclaiming my own narrative became a daily battle I was willing to lead the charge in.  By challenging the harmful beliefs I had absorbed, I embarked on a path towards self-acceptance and healing.   A continuing journey.

Through introspection and seeking out supportive communities, I set out towards healing. Embracing self-acceptance and forgiveness became guiding principles.   I recognised the importance of showing compassion to myself, letting go of the burdensome shame, and embracing my authentic self with courage and kindness. Travelling this path is never easy, and I still travel it in an attempt to move beyond the shadows of the past towards a brighter, more empowered future.

Here and Now

As I write this I am looking forward to joining the protest and celebration at the heart of London Pride 2024.  But am I truly happy with who I am?  Am I truly devoid of shame?  Did I come through unscathed?

As discussed, not having the language created many issues.  I thought I was gay but couldn’t understand how I fit that word.  I seemed to skirt on the edges of this box.  But no one ever spoke about it.  No one ever explained.  So being attracted to girls surely meant I was straight – I couldn’t be gay!  But then again, he’s quite cute…  I can’t remember exactly how old I was before I discovered the word bisexual but it was during my mid-teen years.  It felt like a discovery, as though a word had been especially created for me.  Finding that word allowed me to express who I was with ease, but this came with its own problems.

The bi-phobia experienced was a new challenge.  Suddenly I was labelled greedy, undecided, a whore.  It was often assumed that you were only bi because you hadn’t yet ‘made up your mind’.  The invective tossed at the LGBTQIA+ community was (and is still used) that we were promiscuous, dirty, and sinful. Even though bisexual people are the largest individual group in the LGBTQIA+ community, we are often overlooked, we often have our experiences erased and we oftentimes feel like the outsiders.  From within and without of the community, I felt isolated. 

Fleeting intimacy seemed easy to find, although did little for the soul.  Finding deeper connections was harder.  Lots of women didn’t want to be with someone who had been with men – and vice versa.  The judgement was that if you were bisexual you would cheat.  The judgement was that if you found love with someone then you had ‘picked a side’.  The judgement was that you only sought one-night stands, back ally romps, casual sexual encounters.  If you hear something enough…you begin to believe it, and those formative years were filled with trysts that satisfied a need to explore, but did little to satiate the soul.  It then became a cycle of linking sex to sexuality in a way that defined me, in a way that I didn’t like.  This reinforced those feelings of shame and to this day they are still lurking, and those habits creep back in.

Through the years I have had loving relationships and have learned that the hate thrown is not the truth.   I have learned to love myself, on most days, and I have learned that try as people might – I cannot change who I am.  And I wouldn’t want to.

The shame is still with me, but it is easier to ignore, easier to dispel and it hurts a hell of a lot less with supportive family, friends and colleagues. I am no longer curled up in a cubicle of a pub toilet afraid of who I am.

© S P Clark